


whenever I'm with you, you deliver me from the pain in my life

by simplyeffortless (shadesofbravery)



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Connor likes to leave his marks on you, F/M, Light BDSM, Light Masochism, Light Sadism, NSFW, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, and wants to do more, but doesn't know why, he likes you being safe more though, i don't even like pain but here we are, oh boy, please read these, tags added as i add to this, this is garbage and i'm sorry, ya boi likes bruises
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-05
Updated: 2018-07-05
Packaged: 2019-06-05 15:14:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15173462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadesofbravery/pseuds/simplyeffortless
Summary: "Humans were such a messy red compared to an android’s cool blue.Oh, but he did like your red. The light blush that dusts your cheeks, your rosy red lips, but -He liked your blue too."Or, Connor likes bruises.





	whenever I'm with you, you deliver me from the pain in my life

**Author's Note:**

> Fic title is from You're Mine by Disturbed. Chapter title is from Black and Blue by Whitesnake.
> 
> Please read the tags before reading! 
> 
> Also, I've never played this game so there's that.

Humans were fragile. Androids were far more durable, not entirely infallible, they could still be broken. Humans, however, were easily damaged. Humans bruised. Just a small bump could break the vessels underneath the skin, leaving a mark, a sign that harm had occured. 

Connor knew androids differed from humans still, even deviant. He was alive, yes, but not human. Perhaps they were two sides of the same coin, or two breeds of the same species, similar yet not the same. Different down to the very blood that ran through their veins. Humans were such a messy red compared to an android’s cool blue. 

Oh, but he did like your red. The light blush that dusts your cheeks, your rosy red lips, but - 

He liked your blue too. 

He liked it on your neck, your collarbones, your chest, where he kissed and sucked and bit and licked. Left his mark, blue, across your otherwise unmarred skin. 

He liked it other places too. When you bumped into the counter, a bruise on the soft skin of your hip. His fingers finding it, digging in split second when he embraced you from behind. 

He didn’t like when they were from someone else. A smattering of bruises across your ribs from a chase gone south, an opening a suspect took advantage of, before getting tackled to the ground by Connor. It meant you were careless, you were hurt, Connor hadn’t protected you. It meant someone else had left their mark, a mark of ill intent. 

Still though, his eyes lingered far too long on them when he caught a glimpse, his LED flashing yellow. You’d taken the gestures for anger. And he was angry, less so at your recklessness, more so that he’d let you get in harm's way, and - 

That the marks on you weren’t left by him. 

That thought angered him the most, left him with a cold feeling of dread in his systems. He didn’t want to hurt you, didn’t want to cause you pain.   
Feelings were hard enough to navigate already, without this… desire. This want he shouldn’t have. This need he shouldn’t fill, not when you're the object of his affections. Someone he should treasure and take care of, someone he might even love. 

He might not be well versed with feelings but he knows you shouldn’t want to hurt the one you loved. 

And while this all takes him only a few moments to compute, it’s long enough for you to know that something’s up. You press him, even though he doesn’t want to say, eyes filled concern that he doesn’t deserve. 

You’ve paused your nightly rituals, shirt still discarded on the floor where you had left it when all this started, pajamas still folded neatly on the edge of the bed. Still, he does not answer. 

You don’t give up though and take his hand, bringing it up to your lips and pressing an open mouth kiss to his palm before sliding it to your cheek, your hand still pressed over his. 

“It’s okay.” you say, gently, “I’m okay, I’m still here.” 

A hot wave of shame courses through him, LED flashing red, yellow, red, because his distress is not caused by what it should be, not from concern of your wellbeing, like you expected. You shouldn’t be comforting him, not now, not for this. 

“Hey.” you try again. “Are you okay?”

And he can’t bear it, opens his mouth to try to explain, “I’m… I don’t…” He’s disgusted with himself, “I want…” 

He wants to not feel this. He wants to be honest with you but the words won’t come out. His eyes settle on your bruised ribs again and you follow his gaze before he turns his head away. 

You understand, or you think you do. You’ve known his penchant for leaving love marks littered across your body. And this… well. It’s nothing that doesn’t match up with your own desires. There’s negotiations to be had, of course. Boundaries to be set. For now, though, there’s permission to give, reassurances to be had. From you, for him. 

His eyes are shocked, when you drag his hand inch by inch down your body, from your cheek to you ribs. Shock turns to something else as you lead him back, till your knees hit the bed. You lie back, pulling him over you, pressing his hand to your ribs all the while. 

“It’s okay.” you say for the second time that night. 

LED flashing between a multitude of colors again, he traces his hand along the expanse of your skin, circling the edges of blue and purple on your torso. He’s gentle, exploring, barely skimming with his fingertips.

It’s not enough for you. Hand finding his again, you press it firmly down, your body instinctively shrinking away from the pain, a soft sound escaping your lips. 

He nearly pulls away. But doesn’t. Your eyes are dark with want, breath coming in shallow, his scan reveals your heart rate has picked up. Every sign points to you being aroused. 

His previous shame gives way to lust and he gives an experimental press into your ribs. This one has you arching up into his hand, hands flying up to grip his shoulders. 

He’s still unsure, though. Wants to be sure. Your body talks, but he wants to hear it from your lips. “You’re… aroused.” he says. A statement, not a question, you don’t answer anyway, and instead press needy kisses to his lips. 

Not an unsatisfactory response altogether, but it doesn’t meet his requirements, his purpose for asking, and he pulls away. “You like… this?” he questions now, dragging his thumb heavily across your ribs for emphasis. 

“Yes!” you breathe out, eyes squeezing shut, “Connor, please!” you beg. “Want you!” 

You’re not very articulate, but get your point across. He dips his hand into your pants, finding your soft folds. You’re wet. Already wet. He’s barely kissed you, barely touched you. Soaked from this, from the pain, the pleasure. Jolts of arousal run through his circuits and he slides one long finger straight into you. A second finger has you gasping, when he pumps in and out, fingers curling right into your core. Thumb pressed to your bud. 

You whine at the loss when he pulls his hand away. He’s quick in his maneuvers though and shucks your pants off, his soon to follow. He turns you over, pulling you up on to him, back to his chest, pressing his cock against your wet slit. He knows you’re not going to last long, and, well, neither is he. 

He sheathes himself in you in a single smooth motion and you moan. He gives you a moment to adjust, situating himself, his hands, one on your thigh, one on your ribs. 

He applies pressure the same moment his hips snap back and forward again and you shudder, a choked gasp leaving you throat. He gives short quick thrusts, hitting your sweet spot every time, thanks to the angle he’s holding you at. Your head falls back against his shoulder, and your hand find his arms, nails digging into his skin. He idly wonders if it’s hard enough to break it, deciding he doesn’t mind if you leave marks of your own on him. 

He wonders too, what it would be like if he could bruise, if his sensors felt pain the same way they felt pleasure. 

“Conner!” you stutter. 

You must be close. His grip tightens around your thigh as he shifts you forward, till you’re on all fours, and he has better access, pounding into you. You keen, his fingers pressing in hard enough into your thigh to leave bruises.

“Come for me.” he whispers. 

And you do, gasping in pain, in pleasure, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes, and he follows not long after as you shudder around him. 

Connor is quick to disentangle from you, wants to make sure you’re okay, that he didn’t hurt you in a way you didn’t want. Insecurity floods into him. 

You speak first though, quietly, “Connor…” you pause, and ice floods his veins, “That was amazing!” 

He’s relieved. He’s curious, contemplative, still a little unsure. There’s a lot to talk about. He agrees though. You don’t leave him a lot of time to think, though.

“Hold me.” you request, and he does, pulling you to him, wrapping you in his arms, gentle and careful, running his fingers through your hair in a comforting gesture. 

There’s time to talk later, he decides, and you sigh softly, leaning into him, relaxing, before you fall asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Umm, hmm, I almost want to ask to lemme know what you think but yeah.


End file.
